


Let the stars ignite in our wake

by Starrie_Wolf



Series: Gift Fics [Starrie Wolf] [9]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Backstory, Childhood, Gen, Heian Period, Historical Fantasy, Japanese Culture, Royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 22:19:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5350502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starrie_Wolf/pseuds/Starrie_Wolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time she sees Urahara Kisuke, she's sitting all alone behind the screen meant to preserve her modesty, gazing dispassionately down at the festivities going on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let the stars ignite in our wake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [twilightquill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightquill/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Saif!

Her etiquette tutor would probably have an aneurysm if he could see her now.

Yoruichi yawned again, widely, uncaringly. It wasn’t like anyone could see her when she was stuck behind this screen, anyway. The point of having privacy screens for the ladies might have been to preserve their modesty, but to her it had always felt stifling, like the very four walls were conspiring to swallow her whole and spit her out like another one of those pretty little dolls preoccupied with nothing other than aesthetic appeal and the intricacies of court affairs.

The elders had _despaired_ over her attitude.

She let her eyes sweep over the gathering yet again, cheek propped on one hand, absently popping another one of those little delicacies into her mouth. At least the food was good, even if the same couldn’t be said about the company.

One of her ladies-in-waiting muttered something uncomplimentary under her breath about the amount of food she’d been putting away.

Yoruichi ignored her.

A flash of blond hair caught her eye.

Amongst the peacocks that strutted about the court gathering in their garish outfits, he looked almost ostentatiously plain in his garb of some strange green-black-white affair. But then, what did she know about fashion? She was far more fascinated by the way he carried himself, the almost hypnotic way he twisted around the throng of people without even coming close to touching any of the impractical flowing garments everyone around him was wearing. For a moment, she wondered how she could have missed him before, a young boy with a shock of bright blond hair, and skin as fair as death.

Then he moved, and she nearly lost him in the crowd anyway.

Intrigued, Yoruichi leaned forwards, nearly pitching forwards into the light where she would be seen in her eagerness.

There!

He was in a different area now, almost directly beneath her alcove, and just like before he was being ignored by everyone else around him.

She squinted.

No. It wasn’t that she _missed_ him, it was that he _didn’t want to be noticed_.

Maybe he could have fooled these courtiers, most of whom had never done a day’s work in their lives, but Yoruichi had grown up in a military household, learning the minutiae of body language at the feet of her father. An angle of the head, a hunch of the shoulders – _ah_ , he was simply mirroring the body language of the servants that fluttered around them day-and-night, and in turn was being subconsciously dismissed as inconsequential.

A tiny, almost imperceptible dissonance jarred his movements, accompanied by the slightest tilt of his head. Then he smoothly turned, and looked _directly at her_.

Yoruichi sucked in a breath, drawing back on reflex, but there was no way he could have seen her, not unless he possessed the capability to see through solid objects.

People were making merry all around him, but for an instant, it was as though the entire world had narrowed down to just the two of them.

He gave a deep bow. Commoner, said his stance, a perfect ninety-degree angle – though that could not possibly be true. Civilian, said the smoothed unblemished knuckles, the hint of baby fat lingering in the soft cut of his face.

And maybe, had she been anyone else – the perfect princess her clan wished she was, the boy her father wished she was – anyone less used to hearing the things they called her behind her back, any more used to believing social station was everything, she might have dismissed him too. It would have been easy, so very easy to let her eyes pass him by, to ignore him the same way everyone else clearly did, but something stopped her.

 _Dangerous_ , said the intelligent gleam in his eyes.

 _Hungry_ , said the plates of food she'd seen him sneak throughout the festivities. A slice of fish here, a piece of nigiri there – he must have put away enough food to match the captain of her guard, and she genuinely couldn't tell if he always ate that much or if he's been starving for far too long.

“How should I address you?”

He smiled, a tinge of respect flickering through his grey eyes.

“This one is called Urahara Kisuke,” he paused, minutely, and added, “Yoruichi-san.” His voice was high and unbroken, the voice of a child, but the way he held himself betrayed none of the insecurities of childhood.

Her given name, paired with a simple honorific. Not “the Shihōin princess”, not “-sama”. Her ladies-in-waiting might have been briefly rendered speechless by his audacity, but Yoruichi liked the sound of that.

 _Perceptive_.

She would enjoy his boldness and quick wit in this world of pandering two-faced sycophants.

Yoruichi slid her screen open.


End file.
